Violet Holmes Wants Grandchildren - NOW!
by cactusnell
Summary: Title pretty much says it all. Sibling rivalry does the rest.


It was not the usual thing for the Holmes brothers to sit down together and have tea with their "mummy". The "boys", as mummy referred to them, did not get along well, Oh, there was never any doubt in Violet Holmes' mind that they loved one another dearly, but there was also no doubt in her mind that one would have to be dying for the other to admit it or show it. She had entertained the thought of poisoning their tea and withholding the antidote until such admissions were made, but that seemed extreme even for a family as extraordinary as the Holmeses. But she was now about to tread into territory almost as dangerous. She was about the discuss their love lives, or lack thereof.

"Mycroft," she glanced at her elder son, "Sherlock," her head swiveled to face his younger brother. "I want grandchildren!" At this statement, both of her boys squirmed in their respective chairs. Mycroft actually spilt some of his tea, but was the first to respond, "Yes, well, I don't see that happening soon, mummy."

"It had better be soon. You're not getting any younger, and I'm positively ancient! I want to walk a grandchild in the park before I'm confined to some old lady personal mobility device! I don't fancy driving around the place with an infant towed behind me!"

"For what reason, exactly, do you need a child? You have daddy," Sherlock spoke with a slight grin and a wink.

"Yes, where exactly is our pater familias?" asked Mycroft.

"He's playing with his bees!" Violet snapped. "Don't change the subject!"

Sherlock arched his eyebrows and spoke again, this time to his brother, "Did Anthea accompany you today? She seems to go everywhere with you. It's almost as if you were attached at the hip."

Violet Holmes knew all about Mycroft's relationship with his personal assistant Anthea, and knew she would have to deal with it at some point. But today her main target was Sherlock. The only females ever mentioned by her younger son were Mary Morstan, who was of course married to his best friend, John Watson, and Molly Hooper, a pathologist at St. Bart's. He spoke of John and Mary often, and she knew he thought highly of them. But this Molly woman was a mystery. He would compliment her on one hand, and then dismiss her with the other. She was searching in her mind for an excuse to bring her name into the conversation when Mycroft said, "For that matter, brother mine, how did you manage to tear yourself away from Dr. Hooper? You seem inordinately attached to your mousey little pathologist."

Sherlock glared menacingly at his brother, who sipped his tea in a studiously offhand manner.

_He's hit a nerve there_ thought Violet. _I shall have to follow up on this!_

A few days later, Dr. Molly Hooper received an unexpected invitation from one Violet Holmes. Said invitation was delivered by hand to the pathology lab at St. Bart's hospital.

_My dear Dr. Hooper,_

_My son has spoken so highly of you that I am surprised that we have not met before this. Please accept my invitation to tea on Saturday afternoon. I will send a car to your home at three thirty. I am looking forward to getting to know you._

_Sincerly,_

_Violet Holmes_

Molly didn't know whether to be stunned, surprised, intimidated, or terrified. She settled on a combination of all of the above, and texted Sherlock Holmes immediately.

YOUR MOTHER JUST INVITED ME TO TEA - MH

IT'S MYCROFT'S FAULT -SH

NOT EVERYTHING CAN BE MYCROFT'S FAULT! - MH

THIS IS! - SH

Having received no further response from the detective, Molly called Mary Watson.

"Mary, I've just been invited to tea with Mrs. Holmes! What the hell is going on? Do you or John know anything about this?

"Not a thing! She's a really lovely woman, though, there's nothing to be afraid of! She's nothing like her "boys", as she calls them. Maybe she's just curious about you. Sherlock must talk about you, after all. You are an important part of his life."

"I'm not, at all. I may be an important part of his _work_, but you and John are important in his _life_. Have you ever been invited to tea?"

"Well, no. We did spend one Christmas with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, but that was Sherlock's idea, not hers. I don't know what to tell you. What does Sherlock say?"

"That it's Mycroft's fault, what else! Hold on...No, I have to go. Sherlock's here. Maybe he can explain. Bye!" And with that, Molly ended her call and turned to look at Sherlock Holmes, who had an expression on his face as close to panic as she had ever seen.

"Well, we can't get out of it. Mummy insists!"

"What do you mean 'we'? Were you included in the invitation? And why can't I get out of it? All I have to do is decline, politely."

Sherlock now looked shocked, "No one declines mummy's invitations."

"Well, there's a first time for everything." And with that, Molly picked up her mobile. Since she did not have a number for Mrs. Violet Holmes, she did the next best thing and texted Mycroft Holmes.

I FIND THAT I CANNOT ACCEPT YOUR MOTHER'S KIND INVITATION. PLEASE RELAY MY REGRETS AND MY REGARDS - MH

YOU'RE DECLINING MUMMY'S INVITATION? - M HOLMES

YES. SORRY! - MH

BE IT ON YOUR HEAD! - M HOLMES

For the first time in ages, Sherlock was speechless. He seemed to look at her with a new respect. When they had first met it was apparent to anyone that she had developed an immediate affection for the tall, attractive detective with the curly locks and well-defined cheekbones. She sometimes embarrassed herself with her stammering and her too easy acquiescence to her requests. But that was years ago, before she had helped him fake his death. They now had a kind of friendship, and a cordial working relationship, and while her affections and attraction had not changed, she had long since learned to deal with them. But lately Sherlock had found himself dealing with his own affections and attraction, and was not so sure that he could handle it as well as she.

"Sherlock, for god's sake, don't look so worried. What's the worst that can happen?"

Sherlock Holmes did not want to even hazard a guess.

At three o'clock on Saturday afternoon Sherlock let himself in to Molly's flat to find her sitting on her couch, munching on crisps and watching reruns of Doctor Who.

"What are you doing here?"

"Helping you get ready to meet my mother," he said, and held out a hanger from which hung a beautifully tailored red dress.

"Sherlock, first of all, you know I sent my regrets…"

"You don't know my mother!"

"No, I don't. And I can't imagine why she wants to know ME all of a sudden! And if I was to go to meet her, I can certainly choose my own wardrobe…"

He looked over at her baggy sweatpants and oversized tee shirt with dismay.

"Not this, you git!"

"Well, I suggest you find something appropriate because I'm sure mummy's car will be here in about twenty minutes!"

Seeing how panicky he was, Molly decided to humor him. She returned a few moments later in a simple dress in a watercolor print, with her hair worn loosely and held off her face by a simple ribbon. She looked very Molly, which Sherlock had to admit was lovely. He was pacing back and forth in her sitting room, nervously awaiting a knock at the door which Molly was convinced would never come. Then came the knock at the door.

Molly looked at Sherlock and silently mouthed the word, "Really?". He responded, "I told you you didn't know mummy!" He then opened the door, and was greeted by an elderly man in a chauffeur's uniform.

"Master Sherlock, I didn't realize you were invited to tea."

"You don't think I'd leave my friend to face my mother alone, did you, George?" The chauffeur smiled in a kindly fashion. "And don't call me Master Sherlock. I'm not a child anymore!" And with that, the world's only consulting detective gave the man a childishly petulant look and almost stomped his foot in defiance. The old man smiled indulgently and said, "Shall we be on our way, then, sir," emphasizing the word "sir".

All the way to his parent's home, Sherlock was giving Molly somewhat contradictory advice. "There is nothing to be afraid of. Mummy is really a very nice woman," was quickly followed by "Don't let her intimidate you!" "She will love you, just be yourself," next "Don't emphasize what you do for a living." Molly sat in the rear seat, becoming more and more nervous. It must be contagious. Anyone who could make Sherlock Holmes this jumpy must be an impressive human being. As if reading her thoughts, Sherlock suddenly said, "Don't look at me like that. She has an even stronger effect on Mycroft. He's the real mummy's boy in the family!" Then he slumped in his seat and they passed the remainder of the trip in silence.

Mrs. Holmes did, indeed, turn out to a lovely woman. She couldn't be more impressed with one Dr. Molly Hooper. It was only when they finally settled down to tea that Sherlock's unease, which had dissipated somewhat due to his mother's gentle handling of his pathologist, returned when his mother started the conversation with, "Mycroft has told me so much about you, Molly!"

Sherlock's ears picked up. Why was his brother talking about _his_ pathologist? He looked over at Molly, who looked mildly surprised, but certainly not shocked. "Really?" she said.

"Of course, my dear, you must know how fond Mycroft is of you. You have been a great help to him, and Sherlock, of course. I know he enjoyed meeting for tea at the Diogenes club while Sherlock was 'dead'".

_Tea at the Diogenes club? Why hadn't Molly ever mentioned that? Sherlock thought. And why did she have Mycroft's number on speed dial when she contacted him to try to cancel this meeting? And why did she contact him at all? Why didn't she ask Sherlock to cancel for her?_

"You know, I used to believe that there was something going on between Mycroft and Anthea, but he has always assured me that she is nothing more than his personal assistant. I must say he has never spoken so highly of her as he does of you!" Mrs. Holmes continued.

_What the hell is going on here? Has Mycroft been making advances to HIS Molly?_ Sherlock looked over to see that Molly was, indeed, beginning to blush.

"Mrs. Holmes, I assure you…"

"No need to blush, my dear. I know how charming Mycroft can be when he desires something."

Mrs. Holmes emphasized the word 'desires' in a most alarming fashion.

"I must say, though, I would have taken you for much more Sherlock's type. Remember your first primary school crush, Sherlock? Oh, and that sweet girl from Uni? Oh, I'm sorry. Mycroft wound up dating her for a while, didn't he. But you didn't seem to mind too much, did you?"

"Sherlock's had girlfriends?" Molly asked, astounded.

"Oh, yes dear. This was, of course, before all this 'married to my work' nonsense. Sherlock is not nearly so aloof and above it all as he likes to appear," Violet Holmes smiled fondly at her younger son. "I'm sure he'll rediscover his somewhat more human side eventually!"

"I do not have to sit here and be discussed in this manner any longer, mother. By the way, is Mycroft around? I know he often spends the weekend here."

"I believe he may be in the library, Sherlock. Please ask him to join Molly and I."

"Of course," Sherlock snarled as he stomped away.

Violet Holmes calmly took a sip of her tea, but noticing the concerned look on Molly's face, was quick reassure her. "Please don't look so concerned. My boys are very competitive, but rarely do they do each other any real damage."

Molly did not get to be the youngest head pathologist in London, nor consultant to the world's only consulting detective, by being stupid. She had begun to put two and two together. "All that talk about Mycroft…"

"Oh, my elder son likes and respects you, be sure of that, but his Anthea means the world to him. Not that he has informed her of this, of course. In that respect my boys are very much alike! I think you may soon find a change in Sherlock's attitude. I sincerely hope that you do. I've already told my boys that I expect grandchildren at some point before old age completely overtakes me!"

Molly really didn't know what to make of the situation, and was trying to formulate a response when Sherlock approached, shaking his right hand and flexing his knuckles as if to work out some injury. He quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"We'll be leaving now, mummy. It seems I've just assaulted the British government, and he's about to declare war on Baker Street!" Sherlock shouted this over his shoulder as he dragged Molly toward the waiting car.

George the chauffeur was grinning from ear to ear as they approached the vehicle. "There'll be hell to pay, Master Sher...sir! I can hear Master Mycroft howling from here!" He opened the door and they quickly jumped inside.

"Baker Street, George."

Sherlock then turned to Molly. "Tea at the Diogenes Club? Really? With Mycroft? What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I was lonely. That you were away for what seemed like forever, and that only Mycroft and I knew that you were alive. You couldn't, or wouldn't, get in touch with me. Mycroft kept me informed about your condition. He was the only one that could."

"You are never to become involved with my brother!"

"What!?"

"He's a mummy's boy. He just wants to please her by being the first to give her a grandchild. Stay away from him!"

"Sherlock, really…"

"What does he need you for? He has Anthea. He can just as easily reproduce with her. Granted, they wouldn't be as smart, or as lovely. But they would have marvelous texting skills. Hell, they might even be born with internal mobile circuitry! I'm only half convinced that Anthea is not a cyborg!"

By this time Molly was laughing hysterically. "Sherlock, calm down! Nobody's having grandchildren yet."

"Of course, not right now. It will take at least nine months, even if we start immediately! " He looked at her, grinning sheepishly. "I _would_ like to start immediately, if it's alright with you?"

Molly would have protested more vigorously if he hadn't smiled that devastating smile of his, and slowly wrapped his arms around her. He started kissing her neck, then biting her ear, before moving on to her collarbone. By the time he moved his hand down to her knee and slowly up her thigh, she was picturing a gaggle of curly haired moppets with her brown eyes.

Molly slapped his hand away, and whispered in his ear, "Not here, Sherlock!" She was trying to tell George to speed it up, when her words were smothered by his lips on hers. By the time they came up for air, George, being a good family retainer, had already assessed the situation, and was driving hell bent back toward London.

Back at the Holmes home, the matriarch was applying a cold compress to her elder son's jaw.

"Don't be such a baby, Mycroft. Nothing is broken. I'm sure Sherlock will apologize eventually."

At this, Mycroft snorted.

"Mycroft, dear," his mother said a little more tenderly, "Maybe it's about time I invited Anthea to tea!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and being the mummy's boy that he was, said, "Whatever you think best, mummy." But as he held the ice pack to his discolored jaw, he started to think that that might not be such a bad idea. If she could persuade Anthea quickly enough, he just might be able to beat Sherlock at this baby derby after all.


End file.
